The third group of Mendelssohn’s piano works, along with the “Short Stories” and the concertos, are the “Bachiana,” or, more properly, “Handeliana.” An æsthetic historic sense is a rooted characteristic of the romantic spirit. Mendelssohn’s studies in Bach and Handel had a great influence on his development, and are plainly shown in some of the “Seven Character-Pieces,” with their soft, gentle, old-world conduct of the melodies, and the clever fugal movement which seems to set an ancient counterpoint on to Mendelssohnian harmonies. Here belongs the Fantasia, Op. 28, with its three contrapuntal movements; also the famous E minor fugue and its companions in Op. 35, with the appended chorale and the pompously smooth partwriting, fall into this place. It is constructed entirely differently from the fugue of Bach, which grows up from within; it is a grafting of a fugato on the trunk of a drawing-room piece. Finally, we recall the “Variations sérieuses,” composed in 1841, the purest, most solid, most massive work that Mendelssohn ever wrote for the piano, without a suspicion of triviality, filled full with intellectual outlines and harmonies, a splendid erection, but--throughout dependent on Schumann. We have thus returned to Schumann, whom Mendelssohn so nobly repaid for his admiration. This elegant composer, who, whether as poet, as concertist, or as a follower of Bach, was always equally clear and plastic, might well appear to Schumann the fulfilment of his own aims. He had not wavered as to whether he was called to be a musician, though he had perhaps regarded business as the easier course. At his pieces he had toiled as Heine toiled at one of those smooth-flowing poems of his. The doubt may well have often recurred to him whether the flow was checked. But from this Mendelssohn the music flowed so easily from the fingers, and stood so clear and transparent before him. At one time he believes that the stream is clear, and he rejoices over the speed with which he finishes twelve sheets in a week. This work was the “Humoreske,” which entirely puts aside the earlier fragmentary romance, and throws all, joy and sorrow, into the same crucible. Thus we gain a piece bearing all the marks of decadent imitation of Bach’s traditions, and even of those of Schumann himself, in spite of isolated, delicate, lyrical traits, which occur specially in the G minor section (Einfach und Zart). We are now in March 1839. Schumann writes to Clara, asking her why she chooses the Carnival to introduce him to people who do not know him. Why not rather choose the Fantasie Stücke, in which one does not nullify the other, and in which there is a comfortable breadth? “You like best storm and lightning at once, and always something new that has never been.” Then also he put his “Arabesque” and his “Blumen-stück” together, which has nothing but the title in common with Jean Paul. As a matter of fact,